Laying Ghosts to Rest
by Salysha
Summary: On July 1, 2013, Chris Redfield and Piers Nivans became martyrs to the cause. Three years later, Leon is on an assignment in a former Soviet country and runs into a ghost. AU. Slash, Chris/Piers.


**Disclaimer**: Resident Evil and Resident Evil characters are the property of Capcom. This is nonprofit fan fiction.

**Warnings**: Slash, m/m sex.

**Pairing**: Chris/Piers

**5,800 words of Leon interaction, 1,400 words of Nivanfield sex. Story start and story end thus defined.** Language help: Piers calls Leon 'cocksucker' in Russian, but at least he uses the polite address.

* * *

**Laying Ghosts to Rest**

by Salysha

* * *

The assignment certainly brought back memories. The mission in Eastern Slav Republic was years in the past, but something in the present wanted Leon to remember. There was no biothreat this time; his assignment was a diplomatic and military one: a show of goodwill and friendship through an American trainer sent to instruct local troops. No unpleasant surprises had surfaced; the past with bio-organic weapons seemed to give Leon a break for once.

His assignment was nearing the end, though, and he slipped out to explore around unescorted. He wished to discover and appreciate the beautiful country on his own, he had said with a disarming smile, and the interpreter had delivered the message. He had no idea if that was even true, after spending all his time at base camp. On the way, the pilot had announced when they had crossed the Caspian Sea, but truthfully, he hadn't seen anything out of the window.

Now he was strolling through a local open-air bazaar, looking at everything and not looking at anything. He could have been anywhere in the world. The chatter that here took Slavic notes was the same everywhere. He was looking at nothing in particular when a lonesome figure caught his eye. A man who, the instant he caught Leon looking at him, turned away and took off.

Leon's mouth parted in stupefaction. He couldn't have possibly seen what he thought he had. He was gaining on the figure, who was strolling determinedly away from him. His strides were purposeful and sure, his collar was pushed up and bearing hunched, but Leon would've had no trouble following him. He stood easily a head taller than most around him.

"Hey." He'd jogged up to the man and reached for his shoulder, only to have his hand pushed off without a glance back.

"Give it up." The words were a low hiss. A warning.

Leon didn't freeze for long; determined now, he caught up with the man and grabbed his shoulder firmly. "Wait."

The next minute, he found himself hauled out of the main street and pushed off until he was standing on his feet, facing the elusive shadow. He stared in the eyes of a ghost.

"Couldn't you just leave it be?"

The first words of Chris Redfield came out exasperated. Leon stared in turmoil. Brown hair a little longer, a generous stubble and a few lines on this face, and eyes that still pierced your soul. It was Chris. "How?"

"Who's with you? Are you using a radio?"

"No, I—" Leon realized the question was asked with a real concern and composed himself. "I'm alone. I was on a government assignment in the camp near town and came to see the city. There's nothing more to it. I've a local phone on me, but it's not very reliable. Can't get a signal half the time."

"You can still be tracked with it. Does someone know you're here?"

"I'm supposed to be in town, not doing anything in particular. Where I'm concerned, I'm still not doing anything in particular," Leon said sharply.

Chris seemed to consider it and backed down. His shoulders dropped. "I'm sorry, but this is important," he said in apology.

Leon's look was still disbelieving. He was eyeing Chris, trying to understand. "How?"

"Let's not talk about it here," Chris said, appeal in his demeanor. "Let's go someplace else. Just..."

Leon looked at him under his brow and decided to go out on a limb. "You know what? Hold on." He pulled out his phone and implored Chris to wait, while he went to talk in private. Chris didn't know what kind of a call Leon had made, but at the end of it, Leon came back and said, "Okay. No one's going to miss me for a while." He dismantled the phone and pulled the battery out.

Chris' gaze shifted from the phone to Leon. "Come on," he said quietly.

Leon didn't miss the visible relief.

He was led by Chris through a criss-cross of back streets, until he was led up a narrow staircase to the second floor of a tenement building that had seen better days. He didn't miss the vigil Chris gave around; he had no illusion that it wasn't because of him. Chris fit a key into the lock and pushed the door open. He went in first.

"I brought a visitor."

The apartment was the size to take in at first glance. Already at the opening of the door, a young man who had been studying a book at the table abandoned the reading and stood. Leon peeked behind Chris' shoulder, and Chris stepped aside to show him in full. The revelation was mutual.

_Piers Nivans._

"Why the hell did you bring him here?"

Chris turned to Leon with a friendly grimace. "Talk over there," he said and pulled the protesting Piers to the other room. Before closing the door, he motioned for Leon to make himself at home and pointed at a door. "Can's over there if you need it."

If Leon hadn't been too shaken by the spooks of the past walking the Earth alive and well, he might've been amused by the determination with which Chris Redfield was arranging people in suitable places before talking to them. Noise carried over the closed door; a younger voice, heated, rising. A deeper voice, calm, soothing. Leon didn't feel right listening in and instead decided to visit the unnamed place, even though he didn't need to go.

Leon cracked the door open and searched for the light. He immediately noticed why Chris hadn't called it something more respectable, like a bathroom. It really was a toilet and a sink. No shower. The same disrepair that marred the building on the outside had crept in there, through cracking tiles on walls and squeaky tiles on floor, but the place was clean and functional. Leon washed his hands with a good, old-fashioned soap bar and splashed some water on his face.

As he returned to the living quarters, the voices had calmed down to a muffled exchange. Leon used his carte blanche to eye around. The front door led almost immediately to the sitting room, which had doors to the toilet and to the room where Chris and Piers were currently holed up. The space had slightly separated cooking facilities, the stove, the fridge, and some working space. A kitchenette, or what did they call those things?

The living room was sparse, but fairly pleasant. There was the study table Piers had been occupying before; a sofa and one separate armchair taking up space; a bookshelf. Even a tube television. The color scheme was grim; dark wood and beige reigned over most of the space, in textiles and surfaces alike, with the white doors to each separate facility bringing the only ribbon of light. Six inches to room height would've done miracles to making the space appear more spacious; as it was, the murky colors gave it an unnecessary air of crampedness. It wasn't a large place by any means, but it was sparse and neat. The rundown looks outside and in the bathroom facilities had been pushed back to make room for unpretentious domestic living.

Leon was still standing as the door opened and Chris came back out, with Piers in his wake. Chris gave him a reassuring half-smile. "You make yourself at home yet, Leon? Introductions. Piers, this is Leon. Leon, Piers."

Leon gave a restrained smile.

The handshake was strong, but he didn't receive a welcoming look. Leon did a cursory assessment. Strong features, almost as tall as Chris. Smileless eyes. Lips curled in a perpetual downward arc. And obviously, currently very unhappy. Just as quickly, the chance to see Piers Nivans more closely was taken away as Piers withdrew his hand and stalked off.

Leon glanced at Chris, who remained his reassuring self.

"Would you like some tea, Leon."

Piers wasn't looking at him.

Leon caught Chris' eye. "That'd be great. If it's not too much trouble."

"No problem," Piers muttered.

"Actually, if you'll excuse me for just a sec?" Chris broke in.

Chris took off and left him alone with Piers, who was busying himself in the kitchen. Leon deemed it better not to intrude. He strolled around the sitting room some, eyeing the books on the shelves. He made sure not to touch anything because Piers didn't seem like he invited familiarity from strangers. None of the titles hit home. He glanced surreptitiously at the book on the study table. The table lamp was turned off, but he could just make out the word on the front in faded gold lettering: _Grammar_.

Chris was back, and he was gestured to take a seat. "Come on; let's sit down."

Leon plopped in an armchair. It wasn't the dreamiest easy chair he'd sat on, kind of lumpy and narrow, but he sighed contently.

Piers stalked from behind him. A basket of golden flatbread was placed on the table.

When he was younger, he was able to take things in stride. A manipulated munchkin turns into a gigantic flower? No problem. A swellhead cultist abandons enslaving the world and turns into a twisted arachnid? Bring it on. When he was getting on, he liked his things steady. His people living. His dead ... dead. Except now.

"Are you still on the field? Working for the government?" Chris' voice cut him off.

"Still." He was pushing forty, which meant Chris had to be over. Leon tried to remember how old Piers had been at the time of his death. Twenty-six, which meant he had to be thirty. Thirty-ish. "I was offered something along the managerial lines, but it didn't feel right at the time."

Tea was served; a burning cup each, a pot given for further measure. Jam was placed on the table, and Piers took a seat next to Chris, away from Leon.

"How are you still alive?"

Chris exchanged a glance with Piers. Piers retreated to a sullen silence. It was clear that even though they'd waited until Piers could join in, Chris was going to be doing all the talking.

"What do you know?" Chris asked carefully.

"You died three years ago, both of you. A hero's death, at the oil rig. Sherry Birkin made it out to tell the tale. In her statement, you stayed behind to fight a massive B.O.W. Last communication placed you on the scene before the rig collapsed. There was nothing left for the rescue units to find. I was at your service, one held for both of you. So was Claire. So was Sherry. Even Jake Muller came."

That drew a surprised look from Chris.

"Said he owed you. Didn't lay a wreath or anything, but he shut up, for once."

Chris knew painful memories didn't get better by getting shred to pieces. He moved on instead.

"Well, we didn't die," he started carefully. "We barely made it out of the rig; it was a close call. We didn't come back because we didn't have the option. Piers was infected."

"Chris," Piers hissed.

"Leon's not like that. He's gonna listen, and he's not gonna do anything stupid. I wouldn't have brought him here if I didn't know he could handle it," Chris argued.

Leon didn't nod a confirmation; didn't deny. Instead, he only said evenly, "I'd like to hear about it."

Piers' look was full of distrust, anger even. He looked away from Chris. Leon said nothing, but he was eyeing Piers curiously.

"Infected. You mean with the C-Virus?"

"Enhanced strain of the C-Virus," Chris corrected. "At least, that's what we thought at the time."

That drew a reaction. Astonished, Leon could only stare at Piers, whose jaw tightened to a snapping point. It wasn't possible; he was seeing a normal guy who had no signs of infection. To date, there hadn't been a known cure to the viral infection. Leon tried to find sense in Chris.

"We got out just barely after we took down that B.O.W., but Piers had been infected. He was showing signs of mutation, we'd both taken a beating, and there you have it: game over. We had nothing to lose. It was either stay still and take it or make a last stand and fight it as long as we could. We took off and never stopped running, and here's the kicker: Piers never turned."

There was something so infinitely sad in Chris' voice. Leon almost felt like he was seeing a too-intimate indie film. Watching a scene too personal up close, and wishing he had picked something lighter instead. He had known of Chris Redfield as a leader of honor and fortitude, but he had never considered he was a man with a soul.

"Some days, we'd see no one at all. People fled after the attack, and there were ghost towns. Some days, it was Raccoon on Earth. Even if there weren't infected around, we didn't inspire too much confidence. It's times like that that you see the goodness of people. Just one person who takes the chance and lets you stay the night, maybe even eat something, and you can go on a week with people who are afraid and don't want you around. By the time we cleared out of the C-Virus mess long enough to catch our bearings, six months had passed. It was pretty safe to assume we were considered dead. We just kept going."

"How did you cure the infection?" Leon said. He almost jumped when Piers, instead of Chris, answered him.

"We didn't."

His first instinct was to bolt. The C-Virus had left him with 70,000 hostiles and a chunk of Chinese population to survive against. If it was infected, you had to put it down. He quickly realized that this was where the cautious attitude toward him had stemmed from. He was a guest, and he was two steps from locking sights at a guy who had done nothing to him. Leon sank back.

"That's where we don't know. Piers' complications were active when we started out; didn't contribute to the goodwill of the people we encountered. The mutations spooked them out. But at the end of six months, there was nothing left. Piers recovered fully. I've two theories. We ate—chrissakes—all kinds of food during that time. Anything we could find. Lots of herbs and mixtures neither of us recognized. That stuff's still used in traditional medicine. Other choice: or then, it was never the enhanced C-Virus infection we thought it was, and Piers recovered on his own. I don't know; I'm not a scientist. We never saw a doctor or had any research done. Whatever it was, it stayed down, and we never turned back."

Leon assimilated the story with a studious look. It was such an uncanny history he hadn't heard the likes before, yet there Piers was, perfectly normal and unaffected. He looked around the place thoughtfully, angling the pieces together. By the way he was seated, the view was looking to the other room. The door had been left open after the heated counsel, and Leon could see in. He saw a bed: not a very wide one, but it was the only one.

Piers followed the course of his eyes and darkened immediately. "You got a problem with that?"

"Piers..."

"I was just wondering if congratulations are in order," Leon said coldly.

Piers' expression displayed a spectrum: disbelief, suspicion, and the slightest willingness to have faith. Piers broke off with a snap, seemed to fight back distrust, and consult every instinct he had, but he backed down, visibly thrown. Chris regarded them both with a small smile and then turned to Leon.

"Three years is a long time not to make a commitment," he said, fair and unruffled. Chris glanced at his side and squeezed Piers' thigh.

That was the first out-of-place gesture Leon had witnessed between them, the first act that bespoke of an attachment, but it visualized what Chris had tactfully suggested all along. The intimacy was brief and passing, not even claustrophobic, and drew strong reactions from none in passing. Leon was even sure he saw Piers hint a mutual smile for no more than a blink before the reserved front returned. Chris looked at him candidly, and Leon lifted his gaze slowly to meet his.

"So, you've been here ever since?"

"Well, here and there. We did quite a tour around, stayed in different places, tried different countries. In this specific place, about four months. We're doing all right. There's work for someone who's willing to do it and not too much paperwork." Chris' tone was dry. "Piers is doing good learning the local lingo. Well, Russian."

At that, Piers cast a positively wicked look at Leon. "_Вы хуесос._"

"That wasn't very kind," Chris admonished, rolling his eyes tiredly, giving an apologetic look at Leon, who was sure he had been paid a fairly uncomplimentary remark. Chris scowled at Piers. "I learned Chinese for you."

"You cheated. You didn't learn to read," Piers said instantly.

"Tough break, Piers. Learn to love it," Chris shot.

Piers finally receded, had the grace to even look a little sheepish himself. "Sorry."

Leon really wasn't sure what for, but decided he didn't want to know. He shifted, and Chris' attention returned to him. "But aren't you planning to come back? You're fine now, completely asymptomatic from what I can tell, and American citizens; surely you could return?"

Chris' eyes lost their smile, but his temper kept even. "I don't think so. Imagine us showing at the border after being presumed dead for three years. Someone's gonna take interest. It could be just a routine checkup, and the minute they stick a needle in Piers and examine the sample, they're gonna see traces of the virus. They'll haul him into custody and lock him in a lab for a lifetime."

"I can't believe that would happen to you. You are war heroes—"

"You'd know all about it, wouldn't you?" Piers' voice was cutting. "Inconvenient people disappear all the time. Someone comes along, looks at the U.S. government a little funny, and you never hear from them again. It's business as usual. You work straight for the top level. You're a government lapdog."

"I never chose to work for the government!"

Chris almost jumped; his shock in its rarity should have subdued the violent gust of temper, but Leon was all fixated on Piers, blazing fire. Piers had been shut up to bewildered silence.

"I was in Raccoon City at the time of the outbreak. My first day as a cop. I escaped, with Claire Redfield and a little girl named Sherry Birkin. Claire left outside the city, and Sherry and I were taken in by government agents. Sherry was infected with the G-Virus. She was also vaccinated and retained the virus despite that. That made her a very interesting person to the government. I was caught, just as she was, and got taken to interrogations. I was proposed a deal: either I cooperate and come work for them, or Sherry with her special blood got used as a needle cushion for every experiment they could devise."

"Claire never told me that," Chris said mutedly. He was staring openly, something akin to horrified confusion terrorizing his usual calmness.

"She doesn't know. No one should be exposed to that kind of extortion. I was twenty-one, and I gave my life for her safety. So that she'd be treated as a human being and not as a lab rat. She was twelve years old, for godsakes. So don't tell me I don't know what the government can do!"

Leon's violent testimony ended in hissed vehemence, like he'd hit a wall headfirst, and left him heaving for breath. Chris had never seen Leon lose his cool. Beside him, Piers had all but drained. The blazing inferno died and left them in all cooling space that was becoming chillier than ice water. Then, Chris got up and moved over to Leon, still petrified from anger and stuck in that awkward space that came from diffusing righteous anger and having to face the impact it had on everyone else. A warm hand grasped his shoulder, brushed just a finger to his neck. Shook him gently, squeezed to comfort. And then Chris was gone.

Piers was on his feet, Leon registered belatedly. His steps were so hesitant in approaching that he didn't pay much attention, but he did focus as Piers spoke.

"Chris would tell you that I don't know how to apologize. Heck, he wouldn't tell you. He never says things like that." The guilty, distant look passed. Now, Piers was writhing. "But he _could_ tell you. That doesn't mean I wasn't sorry."

The strong features were contorted in pain, positively guilt-ridden, and had no outlet. Piers' agony cut Leon's anger, and suddenly there was nothing left. The unwelcome memory from the past faded to meaning nothing at all, and Leon grimaced at his own reaction. "You weren't to know."

"I—" Piers started, but Leon waved him off. His gestures were natural this time, free of constraint, and spontaneous. He felt oddly liberated, like he was giddy and elated for absolutely no reason. He should've felt ashamed for throwing a fit out of the blue, but he could only grin at Piers good-naturedly.

"Don't worry about it. It was a long time ago. I guess I let emotions get the best of me. That doesn't usually happen, but today's had too many surprises."

At that, Piers gave a small smile, almost a shy one. He stood about awkwardly and finally decided for himself that Leon was as uninjured as he claimed. Piers moved to the bedroom door and knocked. The tap was surprisingly light, barely more than a snuck rap; Leon would've expected something more forceful from his character.

Almost instantly, the bed springs squeaked in answer, and Chris emerged from the door, smoothing his bed hair down. He gave a furtive look at Piers and then accorded the same warmth to Leon. "You all right, Leon?" he said with gentle concern.

"Yeah, fine. All good. Guess old wounds aren't closed as tightly as I thought they'd be." Chris was eyeing him concernedly, but Leon only nudged his head dismissively, even drew a grin. "It's history. Really."

"Recent history," Chris said searchingly, and Leon went with that. Chris encouraged Piers to sit back down and took his seat again. He gave a look of understanding to Leon, who got the meaning very easily; no need to go there. "Come on, have some."

He took a slice of flatbread with jam on it, and Leon followed his lead. Even Piers dug in, and they all took a quiet moment to sample food. The tea had grown lukewarm, but the snack cut the ill-headed conversation and gave a new start, it seemed. It was a sweet and altogether only lightly warm bite, but Leon found it oddly comforting. The comfort shattered the instant Chris spoke again.

"But you understand why we can never go back."

Leon turned his head aside, debated with himself. Tried to think of something to save the day, wanted to pull soothing words out of a hat at the eleventh hour, wanted to break through that compassionate and resolved attitude he was facing. He had never forgotten about 1998, but 2013 was the one that had never left him at peace. "I was the one who asked you to go there. I had nightmares for months."

"I'm sorry, Leon." Chris' concern was audible, heartfelt. Piers seemed discomposed, and not indifferent.

"And no one knows you're alive?"

There, Chris and Piers exchanged a look. Chris broke it off. He looked guilty.

"Claire knows. She's the only one who does."

Leon remembered. At the service, he had been the one to read Chris' personal eulogy because Claire was sobbing so much she couldn't. He had all but lost contact with old friends during his government years, but he had kept in touch with her afterward because he had felt so endlessly guilty. And suddenly, the tears had dried. Claire had stopped the teary phone calls and had barely returned his. She had stopped crying and showed only serious and sad. He had thought that grief had taken its natural course, and she had come to terms with her loss, and they had slipped back to the distant, intermittent contact. It wasn't that; it was lament for a brother forever exiled.

"I couldn't do that to her. She's buried me before. I— I couldn't leave her like that when I was still alive."

Leon nodded to himself in understanding. Of course, she would come first to Chris. "So, you talk on the phone?"

"Very rarely. But we've talked that maybe she could come to one of the neighboring countries in two or three years, and we could meet up. But that's in the future—hopefully." Chris' look was wistful.

* * *

Leon stayed on to chat about lighter subjects. The conversation mainly carried between him and Chris, although Piers seemed to have warmed up to him and even made the occasional remark. At one point, Leon realized Piers had dozed off on Chris' shoulder. Legs open, hands in lap.

Chris followed his gaze and realized the same. He raised his shoulder carefully, giving a soft nudge. "Baby. Go to bed," he murmured quietly.

Piers struggled up, groggy out of his head. He swayed a little, affording Leon a look that seemed confused more than anything, and then shuffled to the other room, closing the door behind him. Chris looked after him.

"He gets tired sometimes. It might be the virus, or maybe nothing."

"I hear you there. Lots of that going around. Tall Oaks and that business in Lanshiang were my undoing. Almost burned out," Leon said and closed his eyes. He almost had no memories of the first six months after that, except for flashes of Adam Benford, survivors perishing through sadistic machinations, and Claire Redfield crying uncontrollably.

"How'd you come back?" Chris asked. His voice was quiet, filled with the painfully compassionate insight of a man who knew exactly where night terrors came from and how it felt to see them awake.

"Crawled out, eventually. As usual." Bitter undertones accompanied the footnote.

"And you are all right now?"

Leon actually stopped to consider it. He mulled it over in his head, explored his feelings, weighted the conflicted emotions he had about his profession and the personal cost and losses that came with it, while Chris waited patiently. He hadn't really considered stopping to ask himself the simplest question. The fight went ever on, but for him personally, the answer was oddly manumitting. "You know what? I think I am."

Chris lowered his eyes, nodding to himself. He had that offbeat quality of smiling without really smiling, but Leon got the friendly expression for what it was.

"Hey, you in a mood for something to eat? I'm kind of getting hungry, here."

Gods, he hadn't eaten since morning. The mere suggestion of food reminded him effectively of the fact. "You got yourself a deal, Chris," Leon said, perhaps a little too strongly because Chris grinned.

"Roger that. It's gonna take just a little before I fix us something; nothing microwaved here, I'm afraid." Chris was already pulling out ingredients and shuffling in the kitchen before Leon thought to make himself useful. Any offers for help were waived, and Leon was ushered to lie down on the couch. Leon didn't even realize he'd drifted off before he woke to a ready meal. Chris had whipped up some kind of a spicy stew.

"Should we leave some?" Leon couldn't have cleaned the plate fast enough, but he wasn't above hoping for more.

"Piers probably isn't going to be hungry until morning. Dig right in."

"This is really good."

Maybe it was the food, maybe it was the unhurried hospitality, or maybe Leon was growing soft, but the place was starting to grow on him. He had thought the place cramped—not unpleasant, but cramped. It was starting to feel cozy. He had spent the day away from training, away from diplomacy, away from all the obligations that usually tied his hands.

He wasn't oblivious to the passing of time. Even as the meal was consumed to the last portion, much to Chris' amusement, Leon was aware how time was ticktocking. The evening was turning late.

"I should probably get going," Leon said unenthusiastically.

Chris shared his reluctance. "It's been good having you over, Leon. You probably gathered that we don't exactly take visitors. You're the first in three years."

"I'm sorry it has to be that way. I still wish it wasn't."

"It's all right, at the end of the day. It works for us, and we've made a good thing of it. And, hey, keep the fight. You probably think I sold you out, but I wouldn't have lasted long. It was too much."

Leon sighed. "I really don't blame you. I wish I'd jumped out years ago."

"Hold on a sec." Chris disappeared into the other room, leaving Leon studying the apartment once more.

Moments later, Piers emerged. The rest had done him good; though obviously sleep-ridden, he was back to himself, even showing a slightly brighter countenance than before. He quickly perked up and tried to seem like he hadn't just woken up. "I'm not dressed to receive," he said, grimacing at the wrinkles in his clothes.

Leon laughed quietly.

"Sorry I just passed out on you like that. Just sometimes..."

"Nothing to it. Sorry I dropped in on you like that."

Piers' lips curved faintly.

Chris had stayed behind to shuffle through something, but he emerged from the room, stuffing a hand in his pocket. "Ready? I'll come see you off."

"Good to go," Leon confirmed.

"Hey." Piers had stepped forward and offered his hand. "I'm glad you came by."

"I wish you all the best. I'm really glad you're alive, both of you. Maybe I'll be able to lay a few ghosts to rest for myself." Leon shook his hand. Piers didn't look like he was used to smiling much, but he conjured a half-grin that probably translated to a broad smile from anyone else. They separated, and then Leon followed Chris out of the apartment, back to the streets.

"I'll take you to the market where you first saw me. Think you'll know your way from there?"

"Christ, I sure hope so." Leon eyed his surroundings. Nightfall had rendered the buildings taller and the streets narrower. The light was scarce and incidental. It would've made a fine urban geocaching to start guessing the exact route they'd come back here.

"Come on," Chris said with a grin.

Leon was led down a zigzag of streets. The maze didn't feel any less complex than it had in the light of day, but the trek took less, and before he realized it, Leon was staring at the opening to the marketplace.

"Looking familiar?" Chris prompted.

"Yeah, I'm starting to get the gist of it." Leon craned his neck and looked the street up and down as he stepped forward.

"Hey, wait a little. Don't go yet." Chris had grabbed his sleeve and tugged at him.

"Yeah, sorry." Leon retreated to the alley, away from the revealing light on the street. Chris was hovering awkwardly. Piers had been a casual acquaintance, but this goodbye was harder. Leon wondered if he should say something about it or if Chris would beat him to it.

"Could you do something for me, Leon?"

He should have set the ground rules first: establish the nature of the favor, assess its feasibility, and ponder the consequences. "Name it."

Chris dug into his pocket, glancing at him under his brow. He pulled out a small pouch that had been tied with string. He opened the pouch and poured the contents to the palm of his hand. He had produced a delicate link bracelet. A looped metal chain branched to turquoise gemstones. Chris ran the bracelet between his fingers with utmost care and laid it back in the pouch, trying the string back tightly. He held the pouch out to Leon.

"It's for Claire. Could you get it to her some way? I've been holding onto it, trying to think how to send it in, but I haven't dared use the mail. Call me paranoid, but I can't let anything be tracked to me, or to her. It's supposed to be a good luck charm. I mean, the stones are supposed to be lucky stones. And it's probably not even her style, and she's gonna hate it, but it's from me—"

"I'll take care of it," Leon said softly. Chris seemed reluctant to part with the pouch, running a thumb over the soft velvet and looking miserable, but he finally let go and watched as Leon took the pouch and pocketed it carefully. "I'll take good care of it, and I'll see that she gets it. I promise, Chris."

It was more than a bracelet to Chris. He struggled with himself and finally turned his head aside, biting his teeth down. "Wasn't expecting that," he ground out. "Shit."

"It's fine."

Chris regained his composure.

"I guess this is goodbye," Leon said finally. "I'm not so good at these, but I'm just gonna say this much. You left a big hole when you died."

He hadn't expected the reaction. They were out in public, in free view of anyone who came by, in a place where male intimacy probably wasn't encouraged much, but Chris had pulled him into a hug. Leon wasn't much for embracing; he didn't know that Chris was, either, but he returned the hug. They let go at the same time.

"Take care." Chris' eyes shone in the dark.

"You, too."

Leon had to part. Leon detached from Chris and started along the marketplace, now deserted of stands and customers. He looked back, saw a hulking shadow leaning on a corner, lifting a hand at him. He waved back. Leon went on and looked back once more. The shadow was gone.

Leon ducked a hand into his pocket. He felt the velvet pouch there and carefully avoided disturbing it. Instead, he picked up the pieces of his cell phone and connected them. The screen greeted him with a glowing light, and he left the cell to look for a signal as he walked on. Nearly half a mile later, he called for a pickup.

* * *

By the time Chris got back, Piers had retired for bed. Chris tiptoed to the bedroom and glanced over. Piers was huddled to himself, his back to him.

Chris changed for bed quietly and crawled in. He rested on his back and still couldn't help a sideways glance. When he heard a stifled sound, Chris rolled onto his side and touched a hand to Piers' back.

"What is it?" he said quietly. The gentle probing seemed to draw Piers further into himself. Chris' voice softened still. "He's not gonna talk."

"Not that." Piers' voice was miserable.

He finally got Piers to turn over, and just like that, Piers was hugging him heavily. He pulled Piers to himself tighter.

"Chris, I'm sorry."

"You were surprised," he said gently. He was getting the idea what Piers was agonizing over. His hand crept to stroke Piers' shoulders.

"I wish it didn't have to be this way."

"It's not a bad life."

Chris ran his hand over Piers' back as Piers held on tighter and considered it. Piers rested his head on his chest. "But it could be home if it wasn't for this."

"I don't see it," Chris said thoughtfully. "I don't see us having a life like this in the U.S. I'd have been stuck working in the BSAA, with you hopefully leading Alpha Team—" at this, Piers snorted, "—but I can't see myself. I wouldn't have known how to retire and would've burned out eventually. It was time to quit. Some things would be easier, but I don't miss living in America."

"You miss Claire."

"Yeah. I do."

They lay in silence, in a tight bundle. Eventually, Chris spoke up.

"I made my choice long ago. I couldn't go back, even if I wanted to. I probably have it, too, by now."

Piers was upset. He moved restlessly and tried to protest, but Chris' calm reassurance didn't fail. They had been careful, but chances weren't on his side, even if Piers wanted to hope. Chris hugged Piers to himself and pressed his lips to his head.

Piers pushed up, eyes on Chris, who met him right back. He rose further until he crept up on Chris' chest. Chris met his lips as he tilted his head, more soft lower lip than coordination, the accidental touch of Piers' teeth to Chris' lip when Piers starting smiling into the kiss, and their lips disconnected slowly. Piers crept up until he was on top of Chris and made for another kiss. More purposeful, more lingering this time.

"You want?" Chris murmured.

"Yeah." An actual smile caressed Piers' face, but then a more cautious look settled there. He lay on top fully, pressing down gently with his knees. Chris spread his knees to accommodate Piers and then realized the intent. Piers asked anxiously, "This okay?"

They usually didn't switch around. They didn't even go for the whole nine yards all the time. They rarely switched, but Piers needed it occasionally. To show they were committed. Chris wasn't much into it, but he went with it because Piers wanted it. Piers knew he didn't enjoy the blunt end of the stick. Chris cupped his face and pulled Piers into a kiss. "Okay."

Piers grinned. The weight of his middle lay heavily on Chris, who let his knees go lax. Piers sunk down, body to body, and kept exploring his mouth for foreplay. Piers rose on his hands, still grinning, head and shoulders above Chris, who was biting down his nerves and gripping Piers' arms with a tight hold. Piers was slowly rubbing them together under the waist, of which Chris wholly approved.

Just as suddenly, Piers stilled and seemed to give into an internal debate. Before Chris had a chance to question him, Piers had flopped down on the bed. "I changed my mind. You do it."

_"You changed your mind?"_ Chris echoed incredulously. He would've actually spent a moment dwelling on it if Piers hadn't been tugging for him to get up and if his dick hadn't twitched in joy at the unexpected turn. Chris allowed Piers to coax him to switching positions, still reeling from the twist. A small grin formed, and he set out to lay himself on top more carefully.

Chris ran a strong hand along Piers' outer thigh, following his hand and then meeting Piers' eye. Piers was staring up at him, bright-eyed, all too serious. "I love you, Chris."

Chris' eyes flicked. He brushed a thumb along Piers' lips and looked him in the eye. He leaned down for a kiss. "Love you, too," he murmured.

Underneath, Piers relaxed tangibly. Chris reached forward, caressing his lips with his own before ducking quickly to the side. Piers sighed.

Chris edged down slowly. He had backed down to the foot of the bed when his hands came to rest on Piers' drawstring pajama bottoms, just underneath the tee's edge. He eased the pair down with Piers' wholehearted favor.

Piers bent his knees, splaying his legs to accommodate him. Chris closed in, caressing his ankles as he ran his lips past the head. He wasn't much into this, either, but Piers loved it. He didn't miss the tightening of eye, the sensitive twitch of skin before he ducked down. Piers melted down with a moan.

Chris continued his slow jaunt until Piers encouraged him to go on. He grabbed a condom and went for the lotion. Condoms were easy enough to get, but for some reason, the market for personal lubricants wasn't nearly as easy to come by. They'd learned to make do with what they could get.

Chris shrugged his pants off and fixed himself, then set to work making a slow stretch of his fingers. He admired how Piers stayed hard the entire time. He flagged the second anything approached his rear. He hesitated a little with the positioning, but Piers seemed relaxed and mellow enough for this angling. Maybe for starters. It was more intense this way. With careful guidance and a slow push, he angled in. The slow, careful play grew into little nudges back and forth until they were joined at the hip.

Chris' thrusts were sure and steady. The arcs grew steadily, pushing a little deeper, a little more exhaustively. Piers craned his head backward and nodded hoarsely. His voice was shaky. "Harder, Chris."

Chris satisfied the rough and tough urge and left it hanging in seventh heaven. They didn't land from their high until they paused for breath and helpless grins. Dropping his head, exhaling a happy breath, Chris dislodged and dropped to Piers' side. Piers' back to his chest, Piers' shoulder nudging against his, he settled tightly to Piers' side and took a moment to freshen the lotion. He let his cock glide between Piers' cheeks.

Piers adjusted to a more comfortable position, with Chris' hands stroking his thighs and skimming along his stomach. Chris slid between his legs until he slipped in. Piers sighed.

It was such an all-encompassing, full feeling. The slower pace allowed a longer buildup, this time to the finish. Piers came with his hand tugging the last strokes; Chris, buried in and hands roaming over Piers.

Chris remained buried in until he softened a little, then pulled out. His dick pressed against Piers' ass as he spooned Piers. Piers moved too, adjusting, waiting the final shock of withdrawal to tide over before settling into the embrace. Chris closed an arm around him, murmuring, "I'll get a towel."

Piers managed a drowsy smile. "Thanks."

Chris peeled the protection off tiredly and got up. In the tiny toilet, he wet a washcloth with warm water and cleaned up. The downside in a place like this was not having a shower of their own, and going to the communal showers for an aftermath didn't seem like a good idea. Chris soaped and rinsed the cloth before bringing it to Piers, who took care of himself while he looked for clothes. He washed the cloth afterward, and by the time he returned, Piers was back in pajama pants. Chris slid into the bed, behind Piers, and this time they spooned. Chris settled against Piers and wrapped his arms around him; Piers backed up against him a little tighter.

Chris breathed out tiredly, brushing his chin against the back of Piers' head. "I wouldn't give this away. I think we did all right," Chris said.

He counted it his personal victory when Piers nodded, saying, "I think so, too."

**THE END**

* * *

**Published** July 1, 2013.

**Outstanding thanks** to **Gypsie** (Gypsie Rose) for the proofreading!


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